


Tentacles are not Scary, John!

by okapi



Series: Holiday Tentacle!lock [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Candy, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Sherlock Has Tentacles, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Sherlock and John give out sweets on Hallowe'en.Tentacle!lock fluff. For the Kinktober Day 12 prompt: tentacles.





	Tentacles are not Scary, John!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Small Hobbit, who helps me navigate the treacherous world of sweets and fancy dress, and to the Antidiogenes Club for brainstorming costumes.

“We’ve morning post,” said John, holding up an envelope.

“Post’s boring,” said Sherlock without looking up from the chessboard.

Two tentacles, the thinnest of Sherlock’s eight, slipped out of the topmost slits in his dressing gown. One curled ‘round the head of a pawn and advanced it two spaces.

“Very bold,” observed Sherlock.

The second tentacle ruffled Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock batted it away.

“I know it’s my turn,” he said.

John opened the letter and read aloud:

_“Dear Esteemed Resident(s),_

_Thank you so much for volunteering to make this Hallowe’en spook-tacular for more than two hundred disadvantaged children in our area. Your home, 221 Baker Street, is No. 17 on our Trick-or-Treaters’ Trail. The children will arrive in shifts between the hours of six and nine o'clock on the evening of October 31. Due to possible allergies, we ask that all treats be clearly labelled…”_

“What is this, Sherlock?” asked John.

“I prefer to text, John.”

John rolled his eyes. “This must be Mrs. Hudson’s doing,” he studied the letter once more, “ah, yes, the Women’s Society of Greater London. It’s got to be Mrs. Hudson. Well, she can deal with it.”

“She’s gone.” Sherlock moved his bishop. “Your turn.”

The tentacle scratched Sherlock’s temple.

“What?” exclaimed John. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“Left early this morning. Sick sister. Back next week,” said Sherlock.

“No! Hallowe’en is tonight! Did she leave us treats?”

Sherlock shook his head. “She’s not Father Christmas, John. She’s our landlady!”

“What? But we need treats for,” John looked at the letter for a third time, “two hundred children! And why are we just getting this letter now? Hallowe’en is tonight!”

“I prefer to text, John. And I’m repeating myself. So are you. Why?”

“Blasted post!”

“Call. Explain. Cancel,” said Sherlock.

The tentacle slid a rook across the board.

“Oh,” breathed Sherlock, narrowing his eyes. “Too bold, perhaps.”

“And disappoint disadvantaged children on Hallowe’en?” John sighed. “No, but where are we going to get that many ‘cool sweets’ on such short notice?”

Now Sherlock looked up with a raised eyebrow. “’Cool sweets?’”

“You know, what kids like these days. I mean, we can’t throw liquorice allsorts and Seaside Rock at them, can we?” John began to pace. “Who do we know that knows—?”

“Sweets don’t last long at Mycroft’s,” interjected Sherlock. “And Lestrade prefers large sticky pastries. Like Mycroft.”

John snorted. Then he froze.

“Stamford!” he shouted and strode towards Sherlock, grinning.

“Sherlock, I bet a great aunt in America potty enough to send a grown man a six-year-old girl’s Easter basket is probably potty enough to send him an enormous box of ridiculous American Hallowe’en sweets.”

“When did ‘cool’ become ‘ridiculous,’ John?”

John loomed over the chessboard with his hands on his hips. “You tell me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glared up at him. A tentacle bopped John gently on the nose. Sherlock moved his knight.

“Check,” he said.

“Probably about the same time ridiculous became American.” John dropped the letter on the desk and drew his phone out of his pocket. He walked toward the kitchen. “I’m calling Stamford right now. Let’s hope I’m right about this.”

Sherlock went to the desk. His tentacles picked up the letter and unfolded it. He stared thoughtfully at the missive, then he tapped his lips with his fingertips and murmured,

“Your move."

* * *

“I was right!” yelled John triumphantly as he reached the top of the stairs carrying a heavy box. “Stamford’s great aunt in America sent him tons of sweets, which he was more than willing to hand over.”  
 

Sherlock had been reclined on the sofa, flipping through a journal. He sat up as John set the box on the coffee table. All his tentacles unfurled and reached for the box.

“Interesting,” he said.

John opened the box and studied each bag before passing it to Sherlock. “Uh, there’s quite a bit of something called ‘candy corn.’ Hmm. Smarties. Don’t look like our Smarties at all. Laffy Taffy. Oh, that looks like something they’ll like. Not sure about the Pixie Sticks. Nerds! Ha, those are for your lot, I suppose. Blow pops. Well that’s a bit, but I don’t suppose the children will care. Some suspicious-looking globs in orange and black wrappers. Caramels? I don’t know. And a good bit of chocolate that’s probably disgusting. We’ll give that out at the end. More than enough for two hundred, I think.”

“I like this candy corn, John.” Sherlock had opened a tiny bag and was tossing the orange triangles into his mouth.

John swatted Sherlock’s tentacle. “Stop that! Those are for the children!”

Sherlock grumbled, and a tentacle gave John’s ear a tug.

“But what about our fancy dress, John?”

John stared. “What fancy dress?”

“John, I prefer to text. You read post. Supposedly.”

John hurried over the desk and snatched the letter up and read to the bottom. “Oh, dear God. We need to find—”

“We?”

“Oh, you’re in this with me. We need to find a pair of costumes in,” John looked at his watch, “three hours. On Hallowe’en. Right.”

“John!”

But John was gone.

“Oh, well,” said Sherlock. Then he eyed the bags of sweets and smirked. All eight tentacles wriggled like a serpentine corona about his head. “Yes, I think a few quality checks are in order. After all, they are foreign imports. And it’s for the children.”

* * *

John trudged up the stairs. “Sherlock,” he moaned sadly.

“Hmm?”

“There’s not a single costume to be bought, rented, or stolen in all of—SHERLOCK!”

One tentacle wiped Sherlock’s mouth while the other seven were trying to sweep wrappers under the sofa.

“Have you been eating the children’s sweets this whole time?! It certainly looks like it.”

“Not all of them. You’re right, John, the chocolate is disgusting. I’m not certain that it doesn’t qualify as child endangerment. Do not inhale the Pixie Sticks. It’s tempting but trust me.”

“This is an absolute disaster! I’ve been racing around town trying to find costumes, but there’s not a one to be had. I was going to say that I’d just have to wear my dress uniform and maybe you could be a ghost and wear your sheet—with something underneath, of course—but—”

“I took care of it, John. In my bedroom.”

“What? How?”

“I called in a favour from someone who works in a theatrical company that does children’s productions. And, don’t worry, my natural advantages will be accentuated nicely.”

Sherlock’s tentacles curled and uncurled.

“Sherlock.”

“What?”

“These are children. You don’t want to scare them with, you know—”

“Tentacles are not scary, John!”

The tentacles’ writhing grew faster and angrier.

John raised his hands. “All right. I’m sorry. They aren’t. I’m just a bit stressed about this whole thing, and I shot my mouth off without thinking. But it doesn’t much matter because,” he surveyed what was left of the contents of Stamford’s box, “we’ll be out of treats in about quarter of an hour, except for the ones that get thrown back at us, of course. Unless maybe you have two hundred eyeballs lying about.

“Cornea transplant team frowns on that sort of thing, John.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose we’ll be the opposite of whatever ‘cool’ is.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, John.”

“Yoo-hoo, boys!”

“Mrs. Hudson!” cried John.

She appeared at the top of the stairs with two heavy shopping bags in hand. “There’s much more downstairs. Popcorn balls. Little ghost and bat biscuits. Crispy cakes with marshmallow cobwebs and cute little chocolate spiders on them. Miniature toffee apples. Bonfire toffees, too. All wrapped in cellophane and tied with gold ribbon. And labelled. You can’t give those precious lambs junk, John.”

“Mrs. Hudson,” breathed John, “what have we ever done to deserve you?”

“Not enough,” admitted Mrs. Hudson. “But it’s for the children. Now, get into your outfits. There’ll be here any minute! Bye, dears!”

“Huh,” sighed John. “All right. Lead on, Sherlock.”

Sherlock waltzed down the hall with John following.

When John reached the open door, his jaw dropped.

“Sherlock! Two whole racks!”

“If I am going to do this, John, I refuse to be bored.”

Two of the tentacles patted John’s head while four waved excitedly and two reached for clothes hangers.

* * *

_Knock, knock!_

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?!” cried Sherlock.

“And so are you,” said one of the chaperones. “It’s—”

“The ugliest baby doll I’ve ever seen!”

“I’m Little Miss Muffet,” grumbled John as he adjusted his pink bonnet.

“And I’m the spider who scared her right off her tuffet!” cried Sherlock. His black-socked tentacles wriggled. “Popcorn balls!”

“Yea!” cheered the children. Sherlock’s tentacles picked up the little bundles from the tray John was holding and tossed them into the children’s open bags.

When the first group had left, John hissed at Sherlock. “I’m not staying in this all night.”

“Certainly not. We change at the half hour.”

* * *

_Knock, knock._

"Trick or treat!"

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?!” cried Sherlock.

“Oh,” said one of the chaperones. “It’s Alice in Wonderland. And the caterpillar.”

John tugged at the black hairband holding the golden wig in place. “I am the one who needs a hookah pipe,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Not in front of the children, John,” Sherlock hissed back. His blue-and-pink-socked tentacles waved and he shouted,

“How about some bonfire toffee?”

“Yea!” cheered the children.

* * *

_Knock, knock!_

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?!” cried Sherlock.

“Oh, look, Mummy! It’s Ariel and Ursula from _The Little Mermaid_!”

“So it is, my dear. What a splendid octopus! The legs are so life-like!”

John crossed his arms over his scallop-shelled bra and tossed his ginger hair and harrumphed.

“But why is Ariel so grumpy?” asked the little girl.

“She’s got a bad cold and can’t sing,” said Sherlock cheerily as his purple-socked tentacles wriggled. “Too bad. Crispy cakes!”

“Yea!” cheered the children.

* * *

_Knock, knock!_

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?!” cried Sherlock. “Say hello to my friend Nemo!”

“Hello, Nemo!”

“Hello,” mumbled Johnwith puffy orange lips, his body swallowed by the orange-and-white-striped suit with fins and tail.

Sherlock’s grey-socked tentacles all had tiny lights on the tips. A little girl tugged a thick, base one. “Are you a sea _an-nem-bob-lee_?”

“I certainly am, my dear,” said Sherlock. “You’re a smart little girl.”

“You need to take Nemo home. He looks so sad.”

“Don’t you worry. He’ll smile soon, I promise.” His tentacle patted her head. Then Sherlock said to the group. “Okay, who wants ghosty biscuits and who wants batty biscuits?”

“Both!” they cried.

* * *

_Knock, knock!_

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?” cried Sherlock.

“Look, Daddy, he’s a bee just like me!”

“Bees are wonderful creatures,” said Sherlock, letting two bulb-tipped antennae-tentacles bob up and down atop his head. His other tentacles were fixed to his golden wings, which were flapping excitedly. “Buzz, buzz! Would you like a toffee apple?”

“Do you have any eyeballs?” asked the boy.

“Oh, no!” admonished the father.

“Wait, just a minute,” said Sherlock with a wink,and he shoved the tray of cellophane-wrapped apples at John and retreated inside.

The children jumped and shrieked as John gave them each an apple.

“Hey, what kind of flower are you?” asked one.

“A snapdragon,” said John. “Have an apple.”

* * *

_Knock, knock!_

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh, aren’t you splendid?!” cried Sherlock. “And since you’re the last group of the night, you get the rest of the lot! Catch!”

“Yea!” the children cheered as Sherlock’s silver-socked tentacles began throwing little ribbon-tied bags in the air.

“Now what do we say, children?” said one of the chaperones as the treat bags rained down.

“Thank you, Mister Jellyfishes!”

“How about a jellyfish dance?” said Sherlock when the treats were distributed. He took up John’s flaccid tentacles in his own and began to sway and hop. John scowled out from the eyeholes in the round, silvery head.

“Dance, jellyfishes, dance!” urged the children. “Yea!”

Sherlock and John danced until the children filed into the waiting bus.

“Bye!” called Sherlock.

Then John shut the door. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done—”

Sherlock opened his mouth, but John shoved a tentacle—his, not Sherlock’s own—into it.

“—yes, and that includes invading Afghanistan.”

“I had fun. And these,” Sherlock’s tentacles wiggled, “had a lot of fun.”

_Knock, knock._

“Oh, bloody hell. I’m not answering it,” said John, shuffling toward the stairs.

Sherlock opened the door.

“Oh, Mister Holmes, I just wanted to say thank you. The children had such a wonderful time. And your costumes are amazing; everyone, children and adults, have been raving about them. And if it weren’t for your generous donation, we wouldn’t have even been able to have a celebration this year. So, thank you so much sir.”

“You’re welcome. Children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, good night and Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween! And to you too, uh, Mister, uh, Sad Jellyfish!”

The door closed.

“Sherlock, this was you? All you?”

“More precisely,” he said holding his hands up as his tentacles squirmed in the air, “it was them. They wanted to dress-up. I just did it for the sweets.”

John shook his head, then smiled. “You were right: tentacles aren’t scary. The children loved them.” Then he sighed. “Well, I can’t wait to get out of this thing. No more fancy dress for me!”

“Oh, really,” said Sherlock. “I was thinking one more change. You said something about a dress uniform and a sheet.”

Sherlock grinned at John.

John grinned at Sherlock and said, “Ten minutes. My bedroom. I’ll bring what’s left of the candy corn.”

“Happy Halloween!” cried Sherlock, and they both raced for the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
